


Of Which Reason Knows Nothing

by Skara_Brae



Category: Battle Creek (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angry Sex, Case Fic, Denial, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, M/M, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-25 21:23:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3825544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skara_Brae/pseuds/Skara_Brae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Russ Agnew was not soul-bonded to his arrogant, good-looking FBI partner. There was just no way that could have happened...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Art of Denial, and other rivers in Egypt

Russ dragged himself into the office on Monday morning. Weekends were the hardest now; two whole days with tension building in his shoulders and emptiness churning in his gut. Pulling open the door, he risked a glance over his shoulder into the FBI suite. Milt was already at his desk, bent over his tablet. A cup of what was no doubt high-end expresso resting at his elbow. As if feeling his gaze, Milt looked up and met his eyes. Russ immediately turned away and hurried inside.

Holly smiled sympathetically at him as he walked past her desk. Russ’s mouth tightened. Before, that smile would have his stomach churning like a pathetic, lovesick teenager. But since he had been released from the hospital, the only feeling she inspired was a strong (and sincere) affection. He sighed as he helped himself to their crappy coffee.

He was concentrating on completing an idiotic report for an old case when the Commander came out of her office and handed him a note. “Burglary, Huntington Boulevard. Take Milt and go.”

Russ stood. “I don’t need--”

“Take Milt and go.” Her voice was firm.

Russ knew better than to argue. He didn’t have the energy to protest anyway. He got up and trudged across the hall. Milt stood as soon as he opened the door to the suite, and was already shrugging on his jacket when Russ spoke.

“Burglary. You interested? I’m driving.”

Milt nodded and followed him without a word.

On the drive, Russ felt some of the tightness in his chest relax a bit. Strange how just the proximity could do that. He risked a glance at Milt and saw the agent looked slightly less tense as well, though his hand was absently rubbing his left shoulder. Russ gritted his teeth and forced his gaze back on the road. The skin on Milt’s shoulder would be smooth and unmarked, unlike his own, which was now decorated with another puckered scar.

*^*

It had happened just over two months ago. They had been investigating a complaint about drug dealing going on in a semi isolated house just north of the city. Milt had wormed his way onto the case as usual. Jacocks and Font had gone to the front of the house to ring the bell while he and Milt had snuck around the back (over Milt’s objections). The whole thing had gone south remarkably fast, even considering meth head’s notorious paranoia and tendency to overreact.

Both Milt and Russ had both been shot, Russ in the shoulder (again) and Milt in the thigh. Russ had barely managed to drag a semi-conscious Milt out of the building before the whole place blew sky high. The dealers were apparently cooking the stuff as well. People in the nearby neighborhood thought it had been an earthquake.

Later, in the hospital, Russ had woken up screaming. The nurses had hurried in, assuming it was his injured shoulder. He had been barely coherent but he had eventually convinced them it wasn’t his shoulder. It was his right leg. It felt like it was on fire. Fearful they had missed something, they examined him, and took him for additional x-rays, but they found nothing. No cause for the pain could be found.

Across the hall, Milt had been going through something similar. He begged, he flirted, he pleaded for more painkillers. No, not for his leg, for his shoulder. He must have been hit there as well. The pain was awful.

Everyone had been very confused. Until one of the resident’s, who had studied some kind of Eastern natural medicine bullshit, had suggested putting them in the same room. Shockingly, once that had happened, the pain had subsided for them both. Their conditions had improved rapidly. More tests were run, and finally the head of the hospital had come in to speak to them.

“A definite soul bond,” he’d announced, stroking his graying beard. “So unusual to have the signs so clear. You are clearly feeling in each other’s pain. If you wouldn’t mind, we would like to document your case. This should be written up in the medical journals...”

For once, Milt had reacted the same way Russ did. With total and complete horror. Once they had made it clear that there would be absolutely no documentation, no articles, nothing, the doctor had acquiesced reluctantly. “But you should begin counseling immediately for your own benefit. It will help you learn how to live with the bond.”

Russ informed the doctor that he had no intention of ‘living with it,’ dragged himself out of bed, and checked himself out AMA.

“I hope you will rethink this,” the doctor said as Russ signed the necessary forms. “It’s going to be difficult for you to live apart. This isn’t something that just goes away…”

“We’ll see about that,” Russ replied.

Russ would never admit it to anyone, but it was hard. Much harder than he could have expected. Suddenly his apartment seemed empty and barren. Food tasted bland, but no matter how much of it he forced down, there was still a churning emptiness in his gut. He had trouble sleeping, which he countered by drinking too much. He woke up tired every morning.

As he paced his hallway every night, he tried to rationalize his decision. It sucked, but what else could he do? He couldn’t… he wasn’t the type of person that soul bonded. He couldn’t deal with that level of intimacy. And to someone like Milt? Milt, who had lied about everything since he had arrived, and who Russ still didn’t trust. How could he have bonded to someone like that? It was impossible. The doctors were wrong. He was just adjusting, and sooner or later, Milt would move on he would get back to normal. He hoped.

*^*

Russ parked the car at the address the Commander had given him. As they walked to the front door, Russ noticed how much weight Milt had lost. The tailored suit was hanging off his slender frame. Normally he would be happy he wasn’t suffering alone, but Milt’s unhappy expression gave him an unexpected pang.

They had never spoken about this…thing between them. At work they kept all of their conversations brief and professional. They were careful to never brush against each other, or touch accidently.

They took notes about the robbery and got descriptions of the items taken, and Milt called up his fancy crime scene unit to come and take fingerprints. Then it was back in the car and back to the station. There wasn’t much else to do, except to hit up the local pawn shops and check for the items. If these thieves were smart, they’d head down to Detroit and hock the items there.

This type of crime really wasn’t something that required a lead detective or an FBI agent. But they were always assigned the first case that came in after a few days off.

They parted in the hallway. Milt murmured something about keeping him updated about any fingerprint matches and ducked back into the FBI suite. Russ opened the door to Headquarters. The Commander was in her office, but there was no one else around but Holly. She smiled brightly at him.

“What’s up?” he asked her.

“You always look better, you know,” she said. “After you’ve been with him.”

He only grunted in response.

She followed him back to his desk. “Russ, I know that this whole situation… isn’t something that you are used to dealing with. But you can’t keep trying to deny it. It will only make things worse.”

Russ squinted at her. “You an expert on this crap now?”

“My grandparents were bonded,” she answered. “I would guess that makes me more knowledgeable than most people.”

“Your grandparents?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “They said they had a rocky start as well. But they were married for sixty years and blissfully happy for most of it.”

Russ drank the cold coffee at his desk. “That’s great for them. Somehow, I doubt that’s my future though.”

“Why not--”

“Because he’s a goddamn liar. He’s lied about everything since he came here. I still don’t know anything about him, and he certainly isn’t sharing. So get the romantic notions about us out of your head.” Russ slammed the mug down. “And I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

The pitying look she gave him told him she didn’t believe that at all.

*^*

Russ made it another two weeks before he broke. It was late on a Saturday night. He hadn’t slept, couldn’t remember the last time he ate, and he’d drank all of the alcohol in his apartment the night before. He’d been drinking way too much. He got in his car, thinking he would go to the liquor store, but after some aimless driving he found himself parked in front of the FBI safe house.

He sat in the car for a full half hour before getting out, slamming the door and charging inside. He banged on the door for several minutes before it swung open. Milt stood on the other side, wearing a loose pair of sweats and a plain blue tee shirt. His feet were bare. He looked more casual than Russ had ever seen him. Just the sight of him relieved some of the anxious tension that had been building inside him, so Russ had to pause for a moment while he worked himself up again.

After a few seconds of silence, he pushed past Milt into the loft.

“This is complete bullshit,” he bellowed. “I really don’t care what the idiot doctors say, I _did not_ bond with you.”

Milt rocked back on his heels at this declaration. Then, to Russ’s surprise, he fired back.

“Are you blaming this thing on me? You think I wanted this? You’re even more out of your mind than I thought.”

“Why shouldn’t I blame you? You’re the one that came here. You’re the one who’s lied about everything about yourself. I didn’t ask to be partnered with you.”

Milt raked a hand through his hair. “This is so typical of you, Russ. Making everything about me instead of the situation we are in. You always do this.”

“Me? Typical? Screw you. I’ll show you typical, you utter jackass.” Russ’s fist clenched at his side, but he couldn’t bring himself to swing it at the other man.

Milt stepped closer… probably an attempt to use his height advantage to loom. Russ was not having any of that. He reached out to grab the other man’s shoulders, to shake him.

The first touch of his hand on Milt’s bare arm was electric. His hand clamped tighter as Russ felt awareness shoot through him. Milt put a hand on Russ’s shoulder as if to push him away. Russ could feel the heat coursing from Milt’s palm through his shirt. Russ went to pull it off of him, but somehow they wound up pressed closer together, grappling in some kind of sick parody of a dance.

There was some grunting, and Russ made the mistake of looking into Milt’s eyes. He would never figure out which one of them closed the final distance, but suddenly there were lips pressed against his, and the tension in his chest fluttered into something entirely unrecognizable. His hands came up and clasped the agent’s neck. His tongue probed and when Milt’s mouth softened, Russ licked his way inside. He tasted like toothpaste. Russ had a momentary qualm that his mouth must taste like stale alcohol before Milt moaned, his hands dug into Russ’s hips, and the sensation chased everything else away. Russ’s hands trailed down Milt’s neck and fisted in his tee shirt.

“Take this off,” he growled.

Milt stepped back and pulled off the shirt in a single graceful movement. “You too.”

Russ heard fabric tear as he ripped his own shirt off. In an almost violent movement, they came together again and both groaned at the sensation of bare skin on bare skin. Russ couldn’t tell if he was still angry or just really turned on. This was probably a bad idea either way, but he didn’t think he’d be able to stop if he wanted to. And he didn’t want to.

“Bedroom,” Milt groaned. “This way.” He snagged his fingers in Russ’s belt loops and dragged him down the hallway. There was a huge King sized bed topped by a rumpled duvet. Milt pushed Russ down on the bed and climbed on top of him.

Russ shifted. “Is this a Tempur-Pedic? Jesus, you do have the best of everything, don’t you?”

Milt groaned. “Will you shut the hell up about the mattress?” He them proceeded to silence him effectively by placing his mouth over Russ’s.

The kisses were rough and bruising, and Russ liked it. He’s fooled around with guys on occasion, and one of the things he had always liked most about it was that he never needed to hold himself back, or worry that he was hurting his partner. Milt ground his hips against Russ’s as his mouth trailed down his neck, nipping him hard when he reached his collarbone.

“Fuck.”

“You like that, don’t you, Russ? I knew you’d like that.”

“Screw you, Fed. You don’t know anything,” Russ lied.

Milt laughed at that. His hand ran down Russ’s chest and over the erection that was tenting his pants. “You’re a bad liar.”

“Not as good as you,” Russ grumbled.

“Take off your pants,” he whispered, before rolling away and taking care of his own. Milt only had to shuck off his sweats while Russ had to fumble with his belt and zipper and kick off his shoes. When they rolled back together, Russ wondered belatedly if they should be having a conversation and who does what to who and how safe they should be.

Milt seemed to see the question in his eyes and shook his head. He fumbled in his nightstand for a moment before coming back with a tube of lube. He angled himself between Russ’s thighs. Their cocks brushed. Russ’s eyes rolled back in his head and his spine arched involuntarily.

Milt reached down and wrapped a wet hand around them. “This,” he whispered. “Just this.”

Russ nodded. He could handle some frottage. He was so hard it would probably only take a minute or two anyway.

Milt’s hand expertly moved on them, stroking slowly downward, and then twisting on the upstroke. Sharp gasps and heavy pants filled the room. Russ thought that he should keep his eyes closed, keep this simple: just a release. But he couldn’t resist staring down Milt’s long brown body. It was long and lean, lightly muscled. The scar on his thigh stood out surrounded by perfect skin His elegant hand worked them both with quiet efficiency. His face was solemn in concentration. Russ wanted to watch see him when he came.

Russ dug his fingers into Milt’s hips and began thrusting up. Milt stuttered, and lost the rhythm of his strokes. Russ took advantage of his surprise, and rolled them over so he was on top.

“Come on, Milt. Is that all you got?”

Milt’s eyes flashed. “Really?” His other hand wrapped around Russ’s neck and pulled him down so their lips met. They groaned together into the kiss. Russ moved his hands to the other man’s perfect hair, and he was delighted to be able to run his fingers through it, to mess it up. He tugged hard and Milt growled into his mouth.

Milt pulled back to breath and began to suck on Russ’s earlobe. Gently at first, but it quickly became rougher, with hints of teeth. Milt moved on to his neck.

“Don’t you dare leave a mark,” Russ growled.

Milt’s voice was rough. “What? You don’t want to go to work with a hickey.” He nipped at the skin just under his jawline. “Afraid everyone’s going to know where you got it?” Milt rolled them back, and got his hand around them both again. “They’re already going to guess, Russ. No escaping this now.”

Russ groaned and pushed his head back into the mattress. His cock was weeping steadily, providing extra moisture as Milt stroked them together. The asshole was still talking “…police detectives. Everyone knows, except you…expert in denial…”

“Shut up. Shut up. God, you would ruin this too with your stupid, perfect mouth… Ah.” And that was it. One more stroke of Milt’s hand and Russ was coming like a fucking teenager. His hands clenched and eyelashes fluttered and that was it. He was unable to move, unable to do anything except feel the waves of pleasure flowing through him from his toes to the roots of his hair.

He heard Milt’s whispered “Oh, fuck,” and then the sensation of more hot come on his stomach and chest.

Milt collapsed half on top of him. The come on their bellies cooled and became sticky, but neither had the energy to move yet. As Russ’s mind slowly came back online, he took stock. There was a warm feeling spreading in his chest, different from the intense pleasure moments ago. This was more like a tingling energy radiating outwards. It felt restorative, repairing the damage from the weeks they had spent apart. He could feel the bullet wound in his shoulder and… shit, he could feel Milt’s wound in his thigh.

“Fuck. We are bonded,” he said.

Milt huffed into his shoulder, and pushed himself up. “You’re a brilliant detective,” he grumbled. He stumbled into what Russ assumed was a bathroom and quickly returned, swiping at the mess on Russ’s stomach with a warm washcloth.

“Fuck,” Russ said again. Exhaustion was pulling him under. The bed was made up with just a duvet, so it was easy for Milt to maneuver Russ over and pull it up to cover them both. By the time he turned off the light, Russ was already snoring.

*^*

The morning sunlight was pooling on the floor when Russ was woken again by the trilling of his cell phone. Grumbling, he crawled out of the strange bed and groped on the floor for his jeans. Locating the phone, he pulled it to his ear.

“What?”

“Russ?” It was Font. “We got a DB out on Oak Mont Road.

Russ groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, text me the address. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“This is a weird one, Russ. Guz is going to want Milt on this. Do you want me to call him?”

Russ glanced over his shoulder. Milt was leaning up on his elbows, looking at him. The duvet had slipped down to his waist. In the morning light his skin was golden. Russ forced his eyes away. “I’ll let him know.”

“Okay. See you soon.” Font hung up.

Russ took a moment to pull on his boxers and jeans. He stared into an empty corner of the room, steeling himself, before he turned back to Milt. He cleared his throat. “Dead body on Oak Mont. You want in?”

Milt nodded. “Did you want to…?”

“I have to go home and change.” Whatever they had done… Whatever had happened between them, Russ wasn’t ready to show up at a crime scene together on a Sunday morning wearing the same clothes as the night before. He hunted for his shirt, and then remembered he had taken it off in the hallway.

Milt accepted this. “I’ll see you there.”

“Okay.” Russ scooped up his shirt from the hallway floor and headed for the door.


	2. Murder and Other Distractions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your kind comments on the first part! I decided to spilt the next part into two chapters (because it was getting long!) Hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think!

The DB was definitely a “weird” one. Russ could tell as soon as he pulled up to the address, freshly showered and shaved and in a new set of clothes. There were already about ten uniforms milling about in front of the house. As he got out of the car, one of them directed him around the back.

The house was older, huge, and set back from the street. It had probably built during Battle Creek’s heyday, and from the weathered _For Sale_ sign on the front, it had likely been empty for a while. As Russ stepped though the side yard, he notice a few broken windows and a dilapidated wooden gate that marked the entrance to the backyard. Font was standing by it, a phone pressed to his ear. Russ hurried over to him.

“What do we got?” Russ asked.

Font pointed through the gate. “Have a look.”

The backyard was large for this area of town, and surrounded by an overgrown hedge. A large circle had been burned into the overgrown grass. In the center, there was a body of a young woman with long blond hair. She had been placed on her back, naked, aside from the red silk sheet that was tucked almost demurely around her. Her right arm was stretched over her head, while her left arm was stretched out to the side.

“What the hell?” Russ muttered.

Font came over to him. “Jacocks and Funkhauser are canvassing to see if anyone heard or saw anything last night. House has been empty for over a year, Niblet’s tracking down the owner and the real estate agent. Crime scene unit is en route, and I just called Guziewicz to update her.”

Russ looked over the victim. “Do we have any idea who she is?”

Font shook his head. “Her clothes are nowhere to be found, and there was nothing else left lying around. We didn’t want to touch her until the CSI’s were done. No car left anywhere around. I sent a uniform back to go through any recent missing persons reports.”

“The press is going to be all over this.” Russ shook his head. “Speaking of press, where the hell’s Milt? He should have… I mean, I thought he’d be here by now.”

“He was here.” Font was giving him a strange look. “He looked over the scene and then said he had to go back to the office.”

“That’s real helpful,” Russ grumbled. “Okay, let’s set up a perimeter. Keep the press back once they get wind of this, and--” His phone rang. It was Guziewicz. “It’s Guz, I gotta take this.”

Russ spent the next few hours at the scene while the crime techs did their thing, and finally the body was loaded into the coroner’s van and taken to the morgue. No cause of death was apparent, so that would be determined by the autopsy.

Russ felt desperately in need of another shower by the time he made it back to the office. Everyone else had gotten back there ahead of him. Funkhauser and Jacocks had gotten very little out of the canvas. Font was on the phone with the home owner. Russ was trying to eat a sandwich at his desk when Milt came in. Russ was unprepared for the zing of desire that flooded through him. Milt was in another impeccable suit, with his hair slicked back as usual, but Russ’s brain treated him to a slideshow of how it had looked the night before, after his hands hand run through it, and how it had looked this morning, mussed against the crisp white pillows.

Milt cleared his throat. “Hey guys, can I get you to come across the hall for a minute? I have a few things I need to show you.”

“We’re all kind of busy working on the murder you bailed on this morning,” Russ retorted.

Milt had the nerve to shoot him a wounded look. What did the guy think? That they were all going to be hearts and rainbows at the office now?

“It’s about the case.” he said. “It’s relevant. I promise.”

Everyone else got up and headed across the hall. Russ pointedly filled his coffee cup first before slowly walking across the hallway.

Milt waited until the door had closed behind him before speaking. “I think this is a serial case.”

“What?” Russ exploded. “Based on what?”

“Based on six past murders,” Milt replied calmly. He plugged something into his laptop, and suddenly crime scene footage was being projected onto the wall. “Three murders in Davenport, Iowa in 2013, and before that – three in Worcester, Massachusetts in 2011. In each case, three women wrapped in silk sheets; a blonde, a brunette and a redhead. Though not always in that order.”

He cycled through the photos, each one looking strikingly similar to the scene from the morning.

“Fuck,” Font murmured.

“The posing changes… Is he trying to mimic a clock?” Jacocks asked. It did look like the victims arms were positioned like a clock’s hands.

“That was the thought.” Milt advanced the slideshow to show several newspaper articles from the _Worcester Telegram and Gazette_ and the _Quad City Times_. “The press called him the ‘Hand of Time’ killer or the ‘Three-Six-Nine’ killer.”

“A serial killer in Cereal City,” Funkhauser groaned. “I can see the headlines already.”

“After the Iowa murders, the FBI’s Behavioral Research and Instruction Unit in Quantico constructed a profile.” Milt handed out copies of a slim, neatly bound document.

Jacocks flipped through her copy. “So is the FBI sending a team to help us?”

Milt cracked a smile. “Contrary to what you see on TV, the BRIU doesn’t have an airplane full of profilers it dispatches at a moment’s notice. Aside from me and my techs, this profile is all the help you’re getting.”

Russ folded his arms across his chest. “And I bet this profile is going to be full of useful information like the killer is a male between eighteen and forty-nine? That will really help us narrow it down.”

“Slightly more helpful than that.” Milt refused to rise to the bait. “BRIU theorized that the murders are really secondary to this Unsub. The victims were chosen because pretty, successful women being murdered gets press. What really gets him off is experiencing the fear that these murders create. In both Worcester and Davenport, the tension was palpable. People were outraged and terrified. Before the last murder, hair dye the color of the first two victims was selling out in drugstores.”

“So, we track down people that recently moved from Davenport to Battle Creek,” Font suggested. “There can’t be that many.”

Milt shook his head. “The FBI cross referenced everyone who moved from Worcester to Davenport back in ‘13 and found no viable suspects. Either the Unsub fabricated his past addresses, or he moved somewhere else in between. And that’s another thing…” Milt paged through the report. “If this is the same Unsub, he’s most likely been in Battle Creek for a least a year.”

“What?”

“He would integrate himself into the community. That way, he can better experience the effects the murders have on the city. He probably volunteers locally, attends City Council meetings, that sort of thing. And the whole time, he’s selecting his victims and scouting locations for his next murder.”

“That’s nice,” Russ said. “But it’s just a theory. We can’t investigate people just because they are upstanding citizens. We’re just going to have to solve this through regular, old-fashion police work.”

Russ succeeded in having Milt actually look annoyed. “Both Worcester and Davenport are larger cites with bigger, better funded police forces. And neither of them came close to catching this guy.”

Ouch. Russ opened his mouth to retort, but Font spoke over him. “How can we be sure this is even the same guy? It could be a copycat.”

Milt nodded. “True. But this Unsub used a rather unusual poison to kill his victims, concentrated coniine, injected at the back of the neck under the hairline. And that was never released to the press. So if our victim was killed the same way, we can be pretty sure it’s the same Unsub.”

“What is the timeframe between the murders?”

“In Worcester, it was three months. But in Davenport, that was shorten to six weeks.” Milt looked at the projection on the wall. “Based on that pattern of escalation, I’d say we have a maximum of thirty days before we see another one of these.”

Thirty days. That seemed to chasten them all.

Milt seemed to have run out of things to say. Russ shifted in his position against the wall. “Okay, well, we’ll have to wait for Meredith to give us cause of death. In the meantime, we still have to ID the vic, and follow up on the canvass.

Everyone else got up and trudged back across the hall, leaving Milt and Russ alone.

Milt busied himself unplugging the projector from his laptop and replacing it in its case, then straightening the papers on his desk. When he finally looked up, Russ met his eyes.

“How did you know about these prior murders?” he asked pointedly. “Were you working in Massachusetts or Iowa when this happened?

Milt’s face shut down instantly. “I read the FBI bulletins.”

“You read the FBI bulletins about serial cases two years ago that took place three states away?”

Milt would not meet his eyes. “Since I’ve been here, I have plenty of free time to catch up on my reading.”

Russ sighed, exasperated, and headed back across the hall without another word.

Guziewicz was on the phone in her office. She must have come in while they were across the hall.

Russ cleared his throat and spoke to the rest of the squad. “Hey guys, we need to keep a lid on the serial angle. If they press gets wind of this, it’s going to blow up and we are going to have every nut job in the city calling in.”

Everyone was nodding agreement when Niblet came in. “Got an id on the vic. Her name was Vanessa Milford, thirty-one, and she was an ad exec over at GreenStreet.” He glanced at Russ. “Hey, Russ, man. You’re looking much better.” Niblet slapped him on the shoulder. “Looks like you finally got some sleep!”

Silence fell over the entire room, until Jacocks hissed, “We decided we weren’t going to mention it.”

Russ closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Next of kin?” he asked tightly.

“Uh, her parents are both dead. She has a sister that lives in Los Angeles. We’re tracking down her number now.”

“I’ll make the call when we get it,” Font volunteered.

“Okay, thanks.” Russ gave him a tight lipped smile. “I need to update Guz on the serial angle.” He turned and stalked into his boss’s office.

*^*

It didn’t take Meredith long to confirm that the cause of death was identical to the prior cases. With that information, Commander Guziewicz ordered Milt on the case with them.

The next two weeks were hellish. Everyone was focused on the Vanessa Milford case, when they weren’t working on all the other crimes that regularly took place in Battle Creek. Overtime had been authorized to run down every potential lead, but, so far, they only turned up dead ends.

No one had seen anything suspicious around the house the day or night before the body was found.

The lighter fluid used to burn the circle in the grass had actually been taken from the garage. No fingerprints could be lifted from the bottle.

The silk sheet the body was wrapped in was commercially made, and available in multiple stores all across the country. Efforts were made to identify local buyers, but since the sheets could have been bought anytime at anyplace, it was probably futile.

Milt’s people had found touch DNA on the silk sheets, but there were no matches in any of the databases.

Vanessa Milford had been good at her job, and was popular with both her bosses and subordinates. She had dated often, but according to her sister, there was no one special in her life. She was a regular at a local bar, frequently went to dance clubs with friends. She volunteered at the local animal shelter, and was also active in the local mentoring program. No one had seen the victim after she left work on the Friday before her death.

Russ and Milt had spoken with the police from both Worcester and Davenport, but they could get no further insight into the killer.

There was a growing sense of inevitability. Russ could see it. The other detectives were losing whatever faith or hope that they might have had that they could catch the killer before he struck again.

“Come on, guys,” Russ cajoled. “We need to keep on this hard.” It was Saturday afternoon, and everyone was sitting around the squad, going over the old information and brainstorming potential leads.

“Russ, two bigger cities couldn’t catch this guy.” Funk pointed out. “What makes you think we can?”

“Battle Creek is a smaller city, but that makes it more likely that someone is going to notice this guy. The killer is not going to be able to blend in like he did in those other cities. It’s more likely someone here is going to remember seeing him… at a city council meeting, or at the memorial service.”

“But we’ve already gone through everything,” Jacocks protested. “There’s nothing else here. We need new information, so we can start cross checking the leads. Maybe…”

“Maybe what?” Font asked. “Is are only option hoping this guy screws up the next time he kills somebody?”

“Alright,” The commander cut through the arguments. “Everyone’s been going on this hard. And we’re all tired. Go home, all of you, take the rest of the weekend, and we’ll come back at it fresh at this on Monday.”

Holly had come in as well, even though her job as an office manager didn’t pay overtime. As people were gathering up their things, Russ walked over to her desk.

“Hey, Russ.” She smiled at him as she gathered up her purse. “You look beat.”

“Yeah, you too. You’ve been putting in the same hours as they rest of us.”

“I want to help out. You’re going to catch this guy,” she said encouragingly. “I know you will.”

Russ nodded. “I know we will, but in the meantime…Look, I want you to be careful.”

Holly rolled her eyes at him. “Is this because of my hair? You sound like my mom.”

“This freak’s got specific requirements, and you fit the bill--”

“Come on, Russ. Erin’s a brunette. Are you telling her to be cautious too?”

“Erin wears a gun on her hip,” Russ pointed out.

“This guy is supposed to be smart. I work in a police station. I’m pretty sure I am not going to be a target.”

“Even so--”

She laughed. “Russ, I can take care of myself, but…” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re very sweet. Don’t worry about me.” She picked up her purse and headed out.

Russ shook his head. When he looked up, he caught sight on Milt in the FBI suite. Milt looked away instantly but it was clear he had been watching the entire conversation.

Russ went home. He padded around his apartment for a while, and forced himself to eat a microwave dinner. He was flipping through the channels on his TV, desperately trying to avoid thinking about the case, or his other obsession, his six-foot FBI agent soulmate across town.

With the focus on the case, he and Milt had never actually talked about what had happened between them. It seemed to be back to business as usual. Russ told himself that it was for the best. That whatever was between them was an added complication he didn’t need.

On the other hand, Russ hadn’t been sleeping. And he could tell from the circles under Milt’s eyes he was in the same boat. They both really needed to be in top form if they were going to solve this case…

*^*

An hour later, Russ showed up at the FBI safe house. He was standing there with a six-pack of beer when Milt opened the door.

“I decided I wanted to watch the Red Wings on your enormous television,” Russ said.

Milt let him in. He was wearing a pair of athletic shorts and a shirt damp with sweat. “I just went for a run. I’m going to shower but,” he gestured around, “help yourself.”

Russ set the six pack on the coffee table, cracked one of the bottles open and tried desperately not to think about Milt in the shower. Was he one of those masochistic SOB’s that like freezing cold showers after a workout? Or did he like the water scalding hot? Right now, was he arching his neck under the warm spray as he soaped up that perfect body? A body that Russ was now well acquainted with, had run his own hands over… Jesus, what was wrong with him? Russ forced his attention back on ESPN.

The first period was half over by the time Milt emerged, in sweats and a tee shirt, his hair still damp. He took a seat next to Russ on the couch. “Who’s winning?” he asked.

Russ opened a beer and handed it to Milt. “No score yet.”

Russ sat back and let the chatter from the TV wash over him. He could feel himself just basking in Milt’s presence, in the fact that it was just the two of them. They had been working together a lot over the past weeks, but always surrounded by other people. This time alone was... relaxing in an unexpected way. But Russ was acutely aware of the distance between them. It wasn’t a lot of space, maybe eight inches, but it felt like too much. It would be better if they were slouched into each other. Russ caught himself picturing all the ways they could fit themselves together, and mentally shook himself.

“Should you even be running on that leg?” he asked. “Since you had a bullet go through it not that long ago?”

Milt was momentarily confused by the out-of-nowhere question, but shook his head. “The doctor said it would be fine as long as I don’t push it, or try to run through pain. It hasn’t bothered me at all.” He ran his hand over his thigh, and glanced at Russ. “I mean, it hasn’t bothered…you, has it?”

Russ has been getting an odd sensation in his thigh from time to time, but he couldn’t really call it pain. “No, it’s fine.” He thought back on the night Milt had received that injury. “You told me to leave you. When you were shot. Do you remember that?” It was strange that they were talking about this now.

Milt’s lips quirked. “I didn’t think you were going to be able to drag me out with your shoulder.”

“So you thought I would just leave you?”

“Well, we wouldn’t be in the predicament now if you had listened to me.” Milt brought the bottle to his lips and took a long pull.

It bothered Russ to hear Milt say this so flippantly. Like there was ever a possibility Russ would have left Milt in that hellhole and run out to save himself. “You’re not the only one who can play hero,” he muttered into his beer. There was a moment’s silence. “Would you have rather I’d left you?” The question burst out of him. The thought that Milt would rather be dead than bonded to him horrified him.

Milt’s eyebrows rose. “No, of course not… I never thanked you for saving me, though, did I? I guess there was too much other… stuff going on at the hospital.” Milt leaned across the space between them and put his hand on Russ’s shoulder. “Thank you Russ, for saving my life.” His eyes were big and stupidly earnest.

Russ pulled back. “Well, you wouldn’t have even been there if it wasn’t for me,” he deflected.

“Hmmm.” Milt turned his attention back to the game.

And there was that space back between them again.

Milt actually dozed off during the final period. Russ smirked at the soft snores. Milt would have been more comfortable if he’d spread out, but even in his sleep he didn’t cross the space that remained between them.

The game ended, and Russ watched the post-game interviews. Finally when the late news came on, Russ stood up and stretched. He gave Milt a gentle shake. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Game’s over. I’m going to head out.”

Milt blinked himself awake. As he looked up as Russ, his eyes narrowed. “You know,” he began. “It’s late and you’ve been drinking… maybe you’d better stay over.”

Russ had drank four beers over the course of a few hours, so it was definitely not enough to impair him, but still he hesitated. “Well, if you wouldn’t mind…”

Milt gave him his first real smile of the night. “I insist.”


	3. Necessities like Sleep and Sex

In spite of Russ’s expectations (or perhaps, hopes, if he was being honest with himself) they did just end up sleeping.

Milt handed him a new toothbrush still in the packaging, and directed him to the bathroom. Unsurprisingly, the bathroom was as lavish and plush as the rest of the apartment/safe house. Russ brushed his teeth as he took in the glass encased steam shower and the jetted tub. He rinsed his mouth and spit into the sink.

In the bedroom, Milt was already under the duvet, eyes closed. Russ surveyed him critically. The bags were back under his eyes. The guy was running himself ragged over this case. And when he wasn’t working the case, he was out doing stupid things like running on an injured leg. Russ needed to start making sure the guy was taking better care of himself.

Russ stripped out of his clothes, leaving only his boxers on and crawled under the duvet. He leaned over Milt and shut off the light. He settled back against the pillows and closed his eyes. It felt strange to be lying next to someone, listening to their breathing, feeling the heat from their body. It had been a long time since Russ had shared a bed with someone. He lay there quietly for a while before Milt’s steady breaths soothed him to sleep.

Milt was still asleep when Russ woke up the next morning. The guy must have been exhausted. Russ spent far too long just looking at Milt and the worrying shadows under his eyes before crawling out of bed and making his way into the kitchen. At least the coffee maker in this place was fairly basic, and Russ got a pot going while he hunted up some breakfast.

Half an hour later, Milt emerged from the bedroom. Russ was making do with some cereal and soy milk he had found in the cabinet.

“You have no good breakfast options,” Russ announced as Milt poured himself coffee.

“You seem to have found something,” Milt replied.

“Cereal,” Russ sniffed.

“Isn’t that what this city was built on?”

“Bacon, eggs, waffles, pancakes,” Russ listed. “These are the breakfast options that you want to provide your guests.”

“You invited yourself over,” Milt said with a smile. He sipped his coffee.

“Ha.” Russ put his cereal bowl in the sink and refilled his own coffee. He leaned against the counter and noticed a stack of papers tucked into the corner. “What’s this?” he asked, picking them up.

“Oh.” The color rose in Milt’s cheeks. “Those are just some real estate listing I was looking at.”

Russ’s eyebrows rose. “Real estate? You looking to move?”

“Well, I can’t crash here permanently,” Milt replied matter-of-factly. “Besides, I would like to create my own space.”

Russ opened his mouth and then closed it again. Milt actually wanted to buy in Battle Creek. He was putting down roots. That was surprising. He flipped through the listings. “Some of these houses are pretty old. You’d need to renovate.”

“Not a problem. I wouldn’t mind getting my hands dirty.” Milt leaned over, snatched one of the pages out of the pile and handed it to Russ. “I like this one. It’s on the edge of town, but it’s right next to a nature preserve and backs up onto a lake.”

Russ looked it over. “You’d be overrun with mosquitos in the summer.”

Milt was unperturbed. “We could just screen in the porch.”

 _We?_ Milt was getting a little ahead of himself, wasn’t he?But then, Russ had just shown up on his doorstep last night. Still, they had a lot of work to do on this thing between them before Russ would be comfortable considering them a “ _we_.” "And it's bound to be freezing in the winter."

"So we re-do the insulation. Upgrade the heating."

Russ was sure Milt had already decided on this place. He looked at the address. Lake Crest Drive. Ha. It really was not his side of town.

There was a knock at the door.

“Who could that be?” Russ asked.

“It’s just the paper. I’ll get it.”

“Your paperboy knocks?” Russ could barely get his to aim. Milt had already disappeared down the hall and didn’t answer.

Russ remembered he’s left his phone on the couch the night before, and went to get it. “Eight missed calls?” His heart sank.

“I’m guessing it’s probably about this.” Milt held up the Sunday paper. The huge headline read SERIAL KILLER IN BATTLE CREEK.

*^*

The Mayor gave a press conference, because of course he did. He insisted Milt and Commander Guziewicz stand on either side of him during it, and assured the public that the FBI and local police were working 24/7 to apprehend the killer. It didn’t seem to calm the public down at all, and the police station was overrun with hysterical phone calls.

By ten o’clock, Russ was already on his fourth cup of coffee.

“How the hell did this reporter get these details anyway?” Font asked, tossing the paper down on his desk.

“Could someone from the police have tipped him off? A patrolman, maybe? Or someone from the FBI?” Niblet asked.

“Maybe the killer tipped him off,” Holly suggested.

Silence fell at that.

“What? Why would you say that?” Russ finally asked.

“Well, I read the profile that Milt gave us. It said that this guy gets off on the fear the murders create in the community. I would think the best way to have everyone freak out is have it splashed all over the papers.”

“That’s true. And who else would know every detail of all his gory crimes?” Funkhauser suggested.

Russ stood up. “So, we get to this reporter, and trace the source.” It might be futile, but it would be better than sitting around taking useless phone calls.

Jacocks shook her head. “Why would he talk to us? This guy’s going to hide behind the first amendment like they all do.”

Russ glanced across the hall. “Maybe we can do something about that.”

*^*

Milt was on the phone when Russ walked into his office. Russ slumped into the chair and waited.

“Okay. Yes, I am still very interested. When can we arrange a viewing?... Okay, I will check with--” Milt glanced up at Russ and then back down again. “I’ll check my schedule and get back to you… Alright, thank you, Jocelyn….Talk to you soon.”

Milt hung up. Russ raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“That was just the Realtor. She wants me to come and take a look at that lake house as soon as possible. Do you think you could take some time this week to come with me?”

So they were back to this again. Russ just managed to stop rolling his eyes.

“Milt. Serial killer, remember?”

“And yet the world still spins on, Russ. People still need to eat, sleep, and go about their daily lives.”

Russ waved this off. “Anyway, we were just talking across the hall. We think it’s possible that the killer could have tipped off the press himself. That would fit with your profile.”

Milt nodded. “Okay, so you want to go and talk to the reporter? Ask him how he got his information?”

“I was thinking you could use your FBI Patriot Act thing and just hack into his computer.”

“It might be easier to ask first.”

“It might be a waste of time.”

“You really think this reporter is going to shield a serial killer?”

“Why not?” Russ threw up his hands. “They’ll do anything, as long as they have an exclusive.”

Milt shrugged his jacket on. “Come on. We can call him from the car.”

Russ sighed and followed.

*^*

Jonathan Elbert, of the Battle Creek Enquirer, met them at a coffee shop. He was a tall, heavy set man in his late thirties with auburn hair.

“Agent Chamberlin,” he said, standing. “It’s nice to meet you in person. You have a lot of fans at the paper.”

“Thank you, but really, I haven’t done anything the police don’t do on a regular basis.”

“That may be so, but your picture sells a lot of papers,” The man responded with a smile. “We’ve even had people call in and ask for copies of your prints. Eight by tens are very popular.”

“Anyway,” Russ cut in. “We need to know where you got the information about the serial killer that you printed yesterday.”

Elbert kept smiling, but his eyes were suddenly hard. “Detective, it almost sounds like you are asking me to reveal my sources.”

Milt leaned forward. “So you admit you have a source? You didn’t come across this connection to the other cases by chance?”

“A concerned citizen emailed me to let me know about the similarities between the Milford murder and past cases in other states.”

“Can we take a look at your computer? We believe it could have come from the Unsub.”

Elbert shook his head. “My computer is full of confidential files, and the names of my sources. I cannot allow the police to access it. It would destroy my credibility as a journalist.”

“Someone else is going to get killed soon,” Russ pointed out. “And you have the means to stop it. Surely that trumps your credibility.”

Elbert’s eyes narrowed. “So, the police department and the FBI are admitting they have no leads? And that another murder is eminent?”

Russ groaned internally. This was going as well as he expected.

Milt tried a different tact. “You do realize that the Unsub wanted to create chaos and fear in the city, correct? What you are doing is playing right into his hands.”

Elbert seemed intrigued. “What makes you say that?” A small smile appeared. “Is that what your profile says?”

“That is what the experts at Quantico believe.”

There was a long pause. “I don’t know who the source is,” Elbert said. “He sent several emails from a generic Gmail account. I almost didn’t bother to read them. I’ll turn them over to you, but in exchange, I want the profile the FBI generated. If I don’t get that, well, you can take me to court.” He took a long sip of his coffee. “And we know how long these first amendment cases can drag out.”

*^*

“I can’t believe you gave into that asshole.”

Milt put the car in gear and backed out of the parking space. “It was the most expedient way to get what we needed. And, as you yourself pointed out, the profile is of limited use, aside from the theory about the Unsub’s motivations.”

“You could have just hacked his email account and gotten the information that way.”

“But when this goes to court, we don’t want to have the arrest thrown out. I want this guy in jail for the rest of his life.”

Russ sat back against the plush leather seats of the SUV. “So now what?”

“The FBI forensics team will trace the IP address the emails were sent from. We can also try to see where and when the Gmail account was generated. That should give us some leads. Then, we just have to run down the information.” Milt shot him a smile. “You know, good old-fashioned police work?”

Russ ignored the twinge in his chest that smile gave him. “Well, I hope your guys find something soon. There isn’t much else to do but go back to the office and talk to every nut with a telephone in Battle Creek.

“We’ll find something, Russ.”

*^*

Two days later, they still were nowhere. The FBI techs had determined the Gmail account had been created at a terminal at the main branch of the Battle Creek Public Library several months ago, before the first murder. They had gone over the footage from local security cameras, and asked the library employee, but found nothing.

“Are you kidding me?” Battle Creek’s former head librarian (now retired and living in Florida) asked Russ when he finally got her on the phone. “You expect me to remember who was on one terminal in the library four months ago?”

“Any recollection you might have,” Russ pleaded with her. “Do you remember anyone who used it regularly?”

“Hmmm.” There was a silence. “That’s the computer in the back by the microfiche machine?”

“Yes.” Russ rubbed his forehead. “Anyone stand out in your memory?”

“Well, no one that looked like a serial killer, that’s for sure.”

“Right, of course.”

“Well, the high school kids would come in after school and neck in the stacks, so I remember a few people complained about them…”

 _Neck?_ Russ thought to himself. Who called it that anymore? He noted down the names she gave him.

“And I remember one idiot who complained that the porn site he was watching was buffering constantly. His library privileges were revoked. They’ll have his name in the records, but he was no rocket scientist. And a man who always wore a baseball cap. They just don't teach proper manners these days...”

A few minutes later, Russ thanked the feisty old lady for her time.

“Good luck,” she said. “Sounds like it’s going crazy out there. Glad I moved when I did.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Russ muttered as he hung up the phone.

Holly came by and dropped a sandwich on his desk. “Here you go Russ. I did a lunch run, so I got you a ham and cheese.”

“Thanks, Holly.” Russ tore off the wrapper and took a big bite.

“I got one for Milt too, but he’s not in his office. Do you know where he went?”

Russ swallowed. “That reporter guy called him, wanted to meet with him again.”

“Why?” Holly asked. “Did he hear from the killer again?”

“Didn’t say.” Russ got up to get more coffee.

Niblet came in and collected a sandwich from Holly. “Thanks, Hol. Guys, I got bad news from the FBI techs about the emails. The IP address was probably spoofed. The only other explanation is that the reporter was lying, and he actually sent the emails to himself.”

Font’s brow furrowed. “If that’s true – why would the reporter lie about that?”

Jacocks shrugged. “To mess with us? I mean what other reason would he have? He didn’t get anything out of the exchange.”

Russ set down the coffee pot with a bang. “Yes, he did. He got the profile.”

“But he didn’t even publish it. Not yet, anyway.”

“Why would he ask for the profile and not publish it?”

“Fuck,” Russ muttered. “In the Davenport case, what was the name of the reporter who broke the serial angle? Holly, you pulled up the press clippings, didn’t you?”

Holly flipped through the papers on her desk. “Um, let me see… It was a reporter named Richard Norman.”

“Is there a picture on his byline?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Googling him now,” Font called out. “Here, there’s a group shot with him on the Quad Cities paper’s Facebook page from two years ago.”

Russ crossed over to Font’s desk. “Which one is he?” he asked as he scanned the photo, which seemed to be taken at a Christmas party.

Funkhauser, Jacocks and Holly all joined him. “I think that’s him… bottom left in the Santa hat.”

Russ stared at the man’s face, and his blood ran cold.

*^*

Milt wasn’t answering his cell phone. Niblet had the FBI techs ready to trace it, but Russ had a sinking feeling it was on the side on a road somewhere. Kim and Font had gone to get a warrant for the reporter’s apartment. There was an APB out for Milt’s SUV and Elbert’s car, but there were no leads yet. It had been forty five minutes, and Russ felt like he was crawling out of his skin.

“I’m going out,” he announced. “I can re-trace his steps. I have my phone so call me with any updates.”

“Russ, are you sure?” Holly asked.

Russ shook his head. “I… I can’t.” He stopped and swallowed hard. “I can’t just wait around here. I have to be out, doing something.”

Holly nodded, and patted him on the shoulder. “We’ll keep working the angles here and let you know.”

“Thanks.”

Russ got in his car and drove up and down the streets. He stopped at a red light, his hands clenching on the steering wheel. There was a zing of sensation through his thigh. Russ pressed his hand to it, and then… _he knew_.

The tires squealed as he pulled an illegal U-turn. He pushed his crappy car’s engine to its limit as it flew down the road. He pulled out his phone and randomly pressed at his speed dial until Font’s voice came through the speaker.

“2176 Lake Crest Drive,” Russ shouted. “I need backup there now.”

“Wha? How? Russ, where are you?”

“I’m on my way there. Just send backup.” Russ needed both hands to make a sharp turn at speed and he dropped the phone. Font would send backup.

As he pulled up to the house, Milt’s SUV was out front. Russ leapt out of the car and pulled his gun, slowly making his way up the front steps. There was no sound coming from inside. He pulled the door open and slowly stepped in.

“Ah, Detective Agnew, do come it,” Elbert purred. “We were expecting you, just not so soon.”

It was dark inside the house, but Russ could just make out Milt, tied to a wooden chair in the front room. Elbert crouched behind him, so Russ couldn’t get a clean shot.

“I wouldn’t come any closer. It wouldn’t be healthy for this partner of yours.

Russ stopped moving. He caught sight of the syringe Elbert had pressed up against Milt’s neck.

“Let him go, Elbert,” he growled. “He’s not your type, anyway.”

There was a quiet laugh. “Oh, you don’t know anything about my type, Detective. Pretty girls may get lots of press, but I think a handsome FBI agent would get even more, don’t you? Especially one that has been so prominently hailed as a hero of our city.”

“This isn’t your city,” Russ gritted out.

“Oh, I think it is. This city is cowering at the prospect of me. I am the most powerful being in it - a patron saint, a god, even.”

Russ rolled his eyes. “Spare us your purple prose. If you’re such a god, why are you hiding behind my partner?”

“I am also not stupid, Detective. Just like the profile said.”

“Is that why you sent yourself those emails?” Russ asked. He took a half step to the left, but he still didn’t have a clean shot. “So you could read your own fucking profile?”

“I was curious. The cardinal virtue of a newspaper reporter. Though I fear it did would lead you to me sooner than I would have preferred.”

“Well, it’s all over now. The Battle Creek PD are searching your house as we speak.”

“It’s always a shame to leave work undone, but I think this stay has been successful. I have another identity and an appointment with a plastic surgeon in Mexico.”

Russ’s hands tightened on the gun. “You’re not going to make that appointment, Elbert. You’re not leaving this room alive.”

“Then neither will your partner…or you.”

“How do you figure that? I’m the one with the gun.”

“Yes, but I have the syringe to your partner’s neck. Agent Chamberlain was telling me about the two of you. A soul bond… very rare, you know. I once did an article on it.”

Russ winced. He hated this asshole throwing that in their faces. But he knew Milt had most likely been stalling for time. Or he was trying to connect with this sociopath.

Elbert rambled on. “Do you know it is possible that seeing your soulmate murdered in front of you would cause you to die of shock? It’s been documented several times.” He pressed the needle against Milt’s neck. A small drop of blood welled up near the tip. “It will make Agent Chamberlin’s demise all the more tragic. Such a good story. I wish I could write it.”

The sight of that blood cause rage to boil under Russ’s skin. “Maybe you’re right. But I bet I could still get a shot off before that happened.”

“True, then we will all go together. Still a good story.” He moved his hand again. There was no way Russ shoot his hand without also hitting Milt.

“Jonathan, wait.” Milt’s voice was hard and scratchy.

“What is it, Agent? Would you like to say goodbye? Tell Detective Agnew how much you love him?” Elbert mocked.

Milt met Russ’s eyes. “No, not that. Though I do. I wanted to talk to you. About your fans.”

Elbert hesitated. “Fans?”

Milt cleared his throat. “You know all serial killers have them. We got letters, after Davenport. Dozens of them. Men telling you how much they admired you. Women volunteering to be your next victim. It was crazy… If you kill me, Detective Agnew will shoot you. But if you surrender now, you go to prison. You’ll still be a legend, though. And by law, you’ll be able to receive your mail. All those letters…”

Milt had kept his eyes locked with Russ’s during his entire speech, and a second before it happened, Russ knew what he was about to do.

“It’s just like you to appeal to my vanity, Agent.” But the needle at Milt’s neck wavered for a second.

“It’s not an appeal, it’s…”

In the next half second, two things happened. Milt threw himself backwards, knocking the chair over and into Elbert and Russ darted across the room and slammed his gun down on Elbert’s wrist. The reporter dropped the syringe. Russ then grabbed his wrist and twisted. He heard bones crack and Elbert howled. Russ threw the man down on the floor and knelt on his back.

“Milt,” he called. “You okay.”

“I’m good,” Milt called back. He was laying on the floor, still tied to the chair.

“Okay. Give me a minute.” Russ pulled out his cuffs and hooked Elbert up, not caring about the guy’s broken wrist. He pulled off his belt and tied the guy’s legs.

“Screw you, Agnew,” Elbert hissed. “I am going to be a legend. I am--”

Russ turned him over and cold cocked him with a punch to the face. “Shut up.”

He turned and hurried over to Milt. “You okay?” he asked again as he untied him. “Are you sure?”

“I’m fine. Russ--”

“I knew. I knew where you were. I don’t know how, but I just knew.”

“And I knew you were coming. I felt it. I knew that if I just stalled him long enough, you’d be here. Russ, I need--”

Russ kissed him, and kept on kissing him until the sound of sirens alerted them that the backup had finally arrived.

*^*

Russ insisted Milt go to the hospital.

“I’m fine,” Milt protested.

“You had a needle full of poison in your neck.”

“It is just a scratch. And none of the poison got into my system.”

“Then you won’t mind having the doctors confirm that.”

Milt was prepared to argue, but Font managed to convince him that they might need to collect trace evidence from his neck. He dutifully went off in the ambulance and Russ and the rest of the detectives took Elbert to the station and booked him.

As soon as Elbert was tucked away for the night, Russ went to the hospital and discovered that Milt had already left. And they had never recovered his cell phone so Russ couldn’t call him. Russ sighed. Well, it had worked once… He closed his eyes, gripped his thigh, and then, he knew.

*^*

Milt was on the porch, sitting in a ratty plastic chair that the previous owners must have left behind.

Russ wordlessly sat down next to him.

“I’m glad you didn’t kill him,” Milt said after a moment. “Blood’s a bitch to get out of hardwood. We’d probably need to pull up the entire floor.”

Russ stared at him. “You can’t seriously still be thinking about buying this place?”

“Why not? The asking price has just been reduced significantly.” Milt smiled. “The Realtor nearly had a heart attack when she saw all the police cars parked outside.”

“Only you would want to live where someone tried to kill you.” Russ smiled.

“That’s not the only thing that happened here,” Milt said. “This is also the place that you saved me.”

“Ha.” Russ turned to stare out at the water.

There was another moment of silence, and then Milt began talking. “So I am thinking of upgrading the kitchen… new appliances, of course, and quartz countertops, but I think the cabinets can be salvaged with some re-facing and new hardware.”

Russ got to his feet. “Uh huh.”

“Screen in the porch, like you said. And the upstairs bathroom would need to be completely gutted. It’s a good footprint though. Room for a new glass shower stall and soaker tub.”

Russ reached out and pulled Milt to his feet as well.

“Plumbing should be fine, and the windows were replaced recently. The other bedroom could be made into an office--”

Russ silenced Milt’s rambling by firmly pressing his lips on the other man’s. Milt instantly wrapped his arms around Russ and they clung together for several long moments.

Russ pulled back. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

He kept a firm grip on Milt’s shoulder and guided him out of the house and into the car. He drove them back to his apartment. Milt continued to ramble on the trip. “New carpet upstairs, and of course, a fresh coat of paint on everything…”

This had to be some kind of shock. But rambling on about home improvements didn’t seem that worrying, so Russ let Milt talk all the way to his house. He led Milt into the bedroom and stripped off both of their clothes. Milt allowed him, but didn’t help at all. He did fall silent, though.

“Come on, bed,” Russ prompted, and pushed Milt into the unmade bed.

“Sit up against the headboard,” he prompted. Milt complied and Russ climbed over him, straddling his thighs with an easy movement. Milt ran his hands up Russ’s arms, down his back and gripped his slender waist. Russ smiled, and ran his hands through Milt’s hair. He leaned forward and dropped a series of kisses on his hairline.

Milt tipped his head back, relishing Russ’s attentions. Russ kissed his neck, ducking lower to nibble on his collarbone. Milt reached down and found Russ’s cock. It was already half erect, and a few twists of Milt’s wrists had it hardening fully. Russ moaned and pressed himself more fully into Milt’s hand. Milt used his other hand to grip Russ’s shoulder and pull him into a kiss. It ended when Russ pulled back and hopped off the bed.

“Where are you going?” Milt asked, plaintive.

“Lube,” Russ called from the bathroom. He came back with a tube in his hand. “So, how do you want to do this?” He figured you get kidnapped and threatened with death, you get to decide who tops.

Milt laid back on the bed and linked his hands behind his head. “I want you to do me.”

Russ blinked. “You sure?”

Milt met his eyes. “I’m sure.”

Russ hurried back to the bed, and kissed him. “Okay. Let’s do this.” He opened the tube. “Lay back.”

Milt did. One of Russ’s fingers prodded at his entrance. It slipped inside, and they both moaned.

“You’re so tight.” The finger began to move back and forth.

“B-- been a while,” Milt choked out.

Russ grunted in satisfaction at that, and added another finger. Milt cried out.

“So good,” Russ soothed. “You feel so good.” He scissored his fingers as he moved them in and out.

Milt dug his heels into the mattress and pressed his hips up. “M’good. Good. I’m ready,” he panted after a minute.

“I’m not sure about that. Anyway, I like this part.” Russ slipped a third finger inside him. “I like watching Agent Perfect fuck himself on my fingers, begging for my cock.”

“Oh fuck, stop talking or I’m am going to come right now.”

Russ stopped, both talking and moving. He pulled his fingers out of Milt and reached for the lube again. Milt frowned, like he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. Russ reached over into the bedside table and fumbled for a condom.

Milt pulled himself up. “Let me do it,” he said.

Milt took the tube of lube from Russ’s hand and squirted some onto his fingers. Then he proceeded to thoroughly spread it over Russ’s cock, enjoying the other man’s moans as he did so. He played close attention to the tip, around the rim and down the shaft. Russ’s cock was… well, just like the rest of him. Gorgeous. He rolled the condom down over Russ’s cock, and then added more lube.

Russ seized Milt’s wrist. “That’s enough,” he ordered.

Milt lay back on the sheet and Russ followed him down. He kissed Milt again, this time gently, as he lined up his cock and slowly pushed inside. Milt’s eyelashes fluttered at the slow invasion. His body slowly relaxed and allowed Russ inside. Once he was fully seated inside of Milt, the soul bond flared up around them. It was so unexpected Russ’s eyes flew wide. It was a tangible presence around them. He felt their connection, but not just through their flesh. He met Milt’s eyes and saw the other man was as surprised as he was.

Russ began to move, and it seemed that each thrust took them farther, faster into each other’s very soul. Their eyes remained locked on each other, while everything built between them. Each thrust drew quiet whimpers and moans out of Milt’s throat.

Milt’s reached a hand down to stroke his cock, but Russ caught it and pinned both his wrists about his head. “No,” he growled out. “I want you to wait for me.”

“Better be soon, then.” Milt wrapped his legs around Russ’s waist, and began to flex his internal muscles in coordination with Russ’s thrusts. They became more erratic and desperate. Russ changed his grip, wrapping his arms around Milt. His fingers dug into Milt’s shoulder blades, so hard that he knew there would be bruises. Then his spine stiffened and he stilled. Then he came inside Milt in messy spurts.

At that sensation, Milt began to shake under him. He cried out and was lost. He came in creamy surges on their stomachs. The whole earth seemed to shake away beneath him, and Russ was sure that if they weren’t holding each other so tightly, they’d shake apart.

They laid together in the afterglow for a few minutes, and then Russ rolled away and got rid of the condom. They came back together and wrapped their arms around each other. Russ rested his head against Milt’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

He was half asleep when Milt cleared his throat.

"So," he said. “About the house...”

Russ could only laugh.

 


	4. The Philosophy of Acceptance, or Russ Finds His Zen

_Three Months Later_

The wind howled and cut through Russ’s heavy winter coat like it was made of paper. He shivered as he and Font stomped the clinging slush off their shoes and hurried inside the building. They had just spent a long morning trying to sort out a stolen property case that involved siblings squabbling over their late father’s estate. They had to stand around and listen to people arguing about old vinyl records and velvet paintings.

Holly smiled as they came in. “Russ, the Commander wants to see you.”

Russ dropped the paperwork on his desk before knocking on Guziewicz’s door. She waved him inside.

“I just talked to the FBI administrator in Detroit. They are sending Milt on a mandatory refresher course next month,” she said without taking her eyes off the paperwork in front of her.

Russ shrugged as he took a seat. “He might have mentioned something about it.”

She looked up. “I just wanted to see if you were going to have a problem with that.”

Russ sat back, puzzled. “Why would that be a problem?”

“You’re not going to have a problem with him being away for two weeks?”

Two weeks. That was longer than Russ had expected, but he fought the urge to wince. “Of course not.”

The corner of Guziewicz’s lip curled. “Milt was in Tulsa for four days last month, you were miserable the entire time.”

“That had nothing to do with it,” he protested. “We got fourteen inches of snow, and had to stand outside in substandard gear because school cancellations meant all the local hooligans were running wild. Hooligans with better boots than us, by the way.”

Kim gave him at tight smile. “Either way, I’m not putting any of us through that again. They are allowing me to send one of my squad to the training as well. You’re going with Milt.”

“Fine,” Russ said with an eye roll.

She shot him an annoyed look. “You realize I am sending you to L.A. for two weeks in the middle of February? You should be on your knees thanking me.”

“Two weeks with a bunch of stuffed up FBI bureaucrats? You should be begging me to go.”

She called his bluff. “I could get someone else if it’s going to be too much for you.”

“No,” Russ amended quickly. “It’s fine.”

Guziewicz didn’t even try to hide her smile. She knew him all too well. She handed him a file. “Make sure your paperwork is all done before you leave.”

Russ nodded and made his escape.

*^*

Milt, of course, was thrilled to learn Russ was going with him.

“Have you ever been to L.A.?” He asked.

Russ shook his head. “Never.”

“I think you’ll love it. It really has it all; beaches, mountains, the nightlife--”

“So you’ve been there before.”

Milt froze, and then, “I used to live there.”

Russ’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”

Milt wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It was years ago… when I first started with the Bureau.”

Russ had more questions, but he now knew enough not to ask. Information had to be massaged out of Milt, sometimes literally. Russ had gotten the whole sordid story about his family one night when they were lying in bed. Milt could be quite talkative with Russ rubbing his shoulders.

“So, you’ll take care of all the travel stuff.”

“I’ve got it covered.” Milt shuffled through the papers on his desk.

“Good. I’ve got that Community Outreach thing. I’ll see you later.”

^*^

The night before they left, Russ stretched out on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Milt had suggested that he spend the night at the safe house, so “they could leave together,” but Russ had claimed he had to pack and would meet Milt at the office in the morning. The FBI was providing a car service to take them to the airport in Detroit.

Russ did need to pack, but in truth, what he needed more was some space. He needed time to himself before he and Milt were going to spend two weeks in a hotel room together.

They had spent a lot of time together over the past months, both in bed and out. They had worked cases, eaten meals, even gone to a couple of events together (In the time he had been in Battle Creek, Milt had someone found the time to be active in several charities). Milt had spent plenty of nights in Russ’s apartment, but he was still living in the safe house while the renovations were being done on the house by the lake.

The house. Russ ground his teeth together as he thought about it. Milt had bought the house outright, he didn’t need a mortgage like normal folks. And now, he kept trying to get Russ to do stuff for the house with him, like picking out tile for the bathroom, or deciding what color the living room should be. It make Russ supremely uncomfortable. He could never afford a place like that, and Milt was behaving like it was a given that Russ was going to be living there with him. It would never work. Russ had accepted the Soul Bond, he accepted that they were tied together permanently now, but they were never going to fit together perfectly. But it was fine, he told himself. They would be okay, going on as they were.

Russ fell asleep, all too aware of the empty space next to him.

*^*

The plane was cramped and crowded. The guy seated next to Russ was delighted when Milt offered to switch his Business Class seat with him. Russ rolled his eyes, but had to admit even the small economy seats were more tolerable when it was Milt’s knee pressed against his.

It was still light out when they landed. They picked up their rental car, and Milt insisted on giving Russ a general tour of the city before going to their hotel.

“How long did you live here for?” Russ asked, pushing his sunglasses up on his nose.

“Not long. A year and a half.”

He was driven down Sunset Boulevard, and up through the twists and turns of Mullholland Drive, then down the Pacific Coast Highway.

“If we have some time over the weekend,” Milt said, “I’d love to drive up the 101. The central coast is really beautiful.”

Russ wondered who Milt had visited it with before, then shook himself. He couldn’t start thinking about all the people in Milt’s past. He would drive himself insane. Or, more insane than he was already.

When they arrived at the hotel, Milt shamelessly flirted with the front desk attendant and got them upgraded to a suite.

“You are ridiculous,” Russ told him as they got into the elevator.

“What do you mean?”

“You, with that girl.”

Milt pushed the button for their floor and gave him a wide-eyed look. “What? I just commented on her necklace. Woman like to be complemented.”

“No, women like it when _you_ complement them. If I tried to say something like that, the police get called.”

“I think you constantly underestimate yourself. Not that I mind, though.”

“No?”

Milt leaned into his space. “I like being the only one who knows your true value.”

Russ had no response to that.

The room was spacious, with its own living room, separate bedroom, and a lavish bathroom. The bed was King-sized and adorned with thousand thread count sheets. They also had a private balcony with sweeping views that was complete with a Jacuzzi. But that night, they decided to head to bed early. To combat the jet lag, of course.

*^*

To Russ’s surprise, he found the tactical portion of the FBI training kind of fun. He and Milt consistently came in with the best times through the training course, until the other agents declared their soul bond an unfair advantage and made them partner with other people. He was expecting some kind of derision since he was just a local cop, but everyone seemed open and friendly.

“See,” Milt said when he mentioned it. “There you go again, always expecting the worst.”

Friday, they were released from the training early. Milt insisted on taking Russ to one of his favorite restaurants in LA. The place was way too fancy, but Milt ignored Russ’s protests, wrapped an arm around him and guided him inside. Russ made an effort not to squirm out of his grip. This was LA. No one knew him here. There would be no one to wonder what the hell Russ Agnew was doing with a gorgeous creature like Milt.

They were early for their reservation, so they were directed to the bar to wait for their table. Russ grabbed them a table while Milt when to the bar to get drinks. Russ looked around. He had no trouble imagining Milt here. He fit right in with all the beautiful people. No wonder Milt loved living in L.A.

As he scanned the room, he saw Milt had been waylaid on his way back with their drinks. A tall blond in a sinfully short blue dress was standing in front of him, rubbing her hand up and down his arm. She was speaking very intently, though Russ couldn’t make out her words

Milt blushed and ducked his head in his usual self-deprecating manner. After a moment, he moved past her back to the table. The blond watched him go and then caught Russ’s eye. She pouted, catching her pink lip between her teeth before walking away.

Milt set a beer down in front of Russ.

“Unbelievable,” Russ muttered.

“What now?”

“That chick saw you come in with your arm around me, and she still propositioned you.”

Milt smiled. “L.A. women are bold. But, actually, that come on was for the both of us.”

“What are you talking about?” Russ asked, taking a large swallow of his beer.

“She had a proposal. I believe the exact words were, ‘You can fuck me while your boyfriend fucks you. Then you can switch.’”

Russ choked on his beer. Milt pounded him on the back.

“You…She…” Russ shook his head. “She really said that?”

Milt raised his eyebrows. “Do you want me to call her back?” He was still smiling, but his eyes had gotten a bit hard.

“No, no.” Russ hurried to reassure him. “I mean, that’s quite an image, but…”

“But what?” Milt took a sip of his wine.

“Well,” Russ cleared his throat. “I don’t share. I’m not good at it.”

This time, the smile reached all the way to Milt’s eyes. “I’m glad to hear it.”

*^*

Dinner was fancy. They were given napkins that matched their suits, and between courses a waiter came and scraped the crumbs off the table. Milt ordered the tasting menu for both of them, and Russ was served plate after plate of food he couldn’t pronounce. When it was finally over, Russ nixed Milt’s idea to hit a nightclub for some dancing. They went back to the hotel.

A bottle of champagne had been sent up, no doubt from the besotted front desk attendant. Milt decided they should drink it in the Jacuzzi.

The night air was a delicious contrast to the hot water. The lights of the city were visible and the crescent moon was high in the sky. Russ sat back in the bubbling water and accepted the champagne flute. Milt slid into the water beside him.

“So,” he asked. “This trip as bad as you expected?”

Russ sipped the champagne. “It’s had its moments.”

Milt grinned. “Oh yeah?”

Russ’s phone beeped. “Who could that be,” he muttered as he slipped out of the tub. He found his phone and laughed as he read the text.

“It’s from Font,” he said as he slid back into the water. “They are getting six inches of snow, and our headlight thieves have struck again.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“Oh yeah. Jacocks, Funkhauser and him are all working it. Sounds pretty miserable.”

Milt’s eyes twinkled. “You know, I think you need to send them a picture – just so they know how much you are feeling their pain.” He snatched up Russ’s phone and hopped out of the tub. Backing a few feet away, he aimed the phone. “Come on, Russ. Smile pretty.”

“You have quite the sadistic streak, you know that?” But Russ dutifully raised his champagne glass in a mock toast. “I kind of like it.”

Milt snapped the picture and returned to the tub.

“Let me see that.” Russ took the phone from him. He opened the photo album and stared at the photo. It was him, the champagne, the lights of the city behind him… but there was something more. He looked… happy? Happy, and relaxed and there was something in his eyes. He could hardly recognize himself.

“Something wrong?” Milt asked.

Russ shook his head. “No, no, it’s fine.” He quickly sent the picture and tossed the phone away.

He slouched down, the water flowing up over his shoulders and stared up into the night. He was happy, he realized. And not just because he was in an expensive hotel room in a beautiful city. He thought about his life before Milt had come crashing into it. Now he could see he had been pretty miserable. He had moped over Holly and yet invented excuses as to why they could never be together. He lived his life for his job, even though it was frustrating and unrewarding most of the time.

And now… Now he had Milt, a partner to him in every sense of the word. Milt was renovating a house in Battle Creek for them and Russ was dragging his feet. He was spending nights alone in his apartment, making plans to do that for the rest of their lives. What the hell was wrong with him?

Milt fetched the champagne bottle and topped off both their glasses. Russ gulped his down and held out his arm.

“Come ‘ere.”

He pulled Milt close to him and crawled into his lap, and wrapped his arms around his neck. They kissed for a long while, pausing only for air and sips of champagne. The contrast between the warm water surging around them, the cool air and the feel of each other’s skin was intoxicating.

Their fingers were getting pruney when Russ finally pulled back. “Let’s go to bed,” he whispered. He hopped out of the tub, shed his wet trucks, and led Milt back inside. He ignored the flashing indicator on his phone. Font’s response was no doubt profane, but it could wait until morning.

As Russ headed toward the bed, he tripped over his shoes, which he’d left in the middle of the floor. He stumbled and had to catch himself as he tumbled onto the mattress. Milt was right behind him and took advantage of Russ’s undignified position. He placed on hand firmly on Russ’s back and crawled on top of him.

Russ could feel Milt’s cock pressing up against his ass. Milt wrapped an arm around Russ’s torso and urged him the rest of the way up onto the bed. They stayed that way, locked together for some minutes while Milt kissed the back of his neck

Russ pushed back against Milt’s thighs, rubbing his ass against Milt’s cock. This position pushed all of his buttons. There was something about being held down, feeling Milt’s strong body pressed against him from neck to knees, that both turned him on and made him feel safe.

Milt gasped as Russ moved against him again. He groaned, and then slowly pushed himself against Russ, his cock neatly slotted between Russ’s cheeks.

“Do you want it like this?” His voice was rough.

“Yes!” Russ growled. “Come on.”

Milt rocked against him again before pulling back and getting off the bed.

“What the fuck--”

“Need the lube.” They had run out of the stuff they’d brought two nights ago, so Milt had picked up some more during their lunch break. He pulled the tube out of his suit jacket pocket and fumbled with the plastic seal.

Russ buried his head in the comforter and rocked himself to the side so he could stroke his cock as he waited for his lover. After a moment, Milt returned, stroking his warm hands down Russ’s back and urging back fully onto his stomach. Russ spread his legs. Milt braced himself with one hand on Russ’s shoulder and he gently slipped a finger inside of him. Russ’s toes curled at the sensation. He moaned.

Milt leaned down and pressed kisses in between Russ’s shoulder blades as he slowly moved his finger in and out.

“Harder,” Russ groaned. And the kisses turned to bites as one finger became two. “Oh, yeah.”

Milt pulled his fingers out. “Yeah, baby, come on.” He slicked himself up quickly as Russ rocked himself up on his knees. Milt gripped his hip with one hand as he guided himself inside.

“Russ, god. You feel incredible.”

Russ’s eyelashes fluttered as he struggled to answer. The feel of Milt, and just Milt inside of him was overwhelming. They had been doing it bare for weeks now – Milt’s people had rushed their tests - and Russ still was overwhelmed by the feeling. The closeness, the heat, the intimacy of skin on skin.

“Don’t stop,” he whispered. He loved coming when Milt’s cock was inside of him. He loved feeling Milt pour himself inside him, hear that low growl in his ear.

“I’m not going to stop.”

The climbed together, moaning, flesh slapping. Then Milt bit down on Russ’s shoulder and pushed him over the edge. Russ groaned loudly as he began to come, spilling himself all over the comforter. But he kept himself up with one hand and pressed back onto Milt’s cock again and again.

Milt cried out in a hoarse voice as Russ’s movements became more erratic, but he managed to keep thrusting as Russ spasmed around his cock. He gripped Russ’s hips hard and slammed into him, once, twice and then slumped bonelessly over Russ’s back.

They stayed like that for a while, connected, breathing hard. They could feel their soul bond pulsing as the sweat cooled on their skin. Finally, Milt pulled out of Russ, his come spilling down over Russ’s thighs. Russ would be lying if he said he didn’t like it, a little bit. Milt staggered into the bathroom and returned with a warm, damp facecloth and proceeded to clean him up.

They slid under the covers. Milt spooned up to Russ’s back and wrapped his arm around his waist. He whispered, “I love you.”

Russ pushed his head into the pillow. “Yeah, me too.”

He felt Milt tense. He had never said it out loud before. He turned in Milt’s arms and met his eyes. “I do. I mean, you know I--” He was silenced by Milt’s lips.

Milt pulled back. “Does that mean you’ll move in with me?”

“Always pushing, aren’t you?” Russ smiled. “Yes, I’m moving in.”

“Glad to hear it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think =)


End file.
